


Insomnia

by suilven



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suilven/pseuds/suilven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Up close, he could see the shadows beneath her eyes; the brittle weariness in the line of her. Not a Cerberus monster. Human. Strong, fierce, beautiful. It all rested on her, and he could see how it was breaking her, each day grinding her down until there was nothing left but grit and bone. FemShep/Garrus, former FemShep/Kaidan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

The Observation Deck was empty, and she turned the lights down as low as they would go, leaving just the faint glow from the running lights in the floor panels to illuminate the room. She stood a few steps in from the doorway, letting her eyes adjust, before slowly moving past the long couch to the wide window that looked out across the infinite expanse of stars.

There was still the flutter of panic as her heart stuttered in her chest, her veins sparked with an adrenaline-laced chill, but an observer wouldn't have noticed the hint of hesitation in her stride. She stopped, dead center in front of the window, daring herself not to look away.

Even before she had pressed her hand to the smooth surface, she could feel the drop in temperature between the ambient warmth of the room and unforgiving coldness of space that filled everything around them that was not-Normandy. She knew that, if she were to lean forward and let her forehead rest against the glass, a bloom of condensed fog would blossom to life there from her breath.

The stars—so many stars… pinpricks of light piercing the endless dark.

If not for the solidity of the floor beneath her boots, she could easily lose herself in the vertigo, letting it pull her down and away with no air even to scream, only the near silent hiss of oxygen escaping whispering in her ears.

The stars were no different now than they had been before, would be no different again if she succeeded in the war against the Reapers, or if she didn't.

Raising her hand, she touched first her palm, and then her fingers, slowly bringing each one into contact with the chilled glass. She released the breath she'd been holding and did the same with the other hand, pressing them both against the surface of the window, her outstretched arms at shoulder height in a position of submission and surrender.

It would have been far too easy to let her eyes close, to let the fatigue of the past days, of the past months and years, catch up to her. But, she was never one for doing things the easy way. She stared out into the space beyond, out into the darkness that both embodied and concealed her deepest fears, separated by mere centimeters of mechanically engineered silica. What would she do, if the glass separating her from out there was to suddenly vanish, as it often did in her dreams?

In her dreams, it was always absurdly slow, giving her ample time to reach for something to hold on to, but she never did. There was no struggle, no frantic clutching and grasping; no panicked search for disconnected air tubing.

In her dreams, she just let go.

She let go.

She watched the ship, smaller and smaller as the distance between them increased, as she tumbled end over end in a lazy roll. The cold, dead stars blinked serenely at her passing, just another bit of debris drifting aimlessly among their splendour.

When she woke, paralyzed and numb and still, after floating for what had felt like aeons, it was her own immobility—her own passive acceptance—that frightened her the most and sent her scrambling on shaky limbs to empty the meager contents of her stomach into the toilet.

Behind her, the door to the Observation Deck slid open and then shut again with an almost silent whir. There was no need to turn around. She had sealed the door to everyone but him.

The thud of his boots reverberated in the silence as he approached, ceasing as he stopped in his customary position behind her, looking out over the same boundless emptiness.

"Long day?" The whispered rumble of his subharmonics continued for a second or two after his words had stopped.

"You could say that."

"Is there any other kind?" His attempt at lightheartedness was weighed down with exhaustion, but she appreciated it all the same; maybe more, for the fact that he still tried.

"Not these days." She sighed, disguising the sound by deliberating exhaling and letting a swatch of fog from her breath mar the perfection of the view.

He massaged her shoulder before letting his hand rest against her back, warm and steady, in the silence.

The condensation on the glass faded and vanished. The distant stars shone on, oblivious and uncaring.

"You should try and get some sleep."

She let her hands fall and leaned back, relaxing against him as his arms enveloped her and she inhaled the faint and familiar scents of gun oil and singed electronics and copper. "I know. You should, too."

"I don't know if I can, but I suppose that lying in bed and pretending to sleep is better than nothing."

"True."

He pressed his mouth to the top of her head, the warmth of his breath and the flick of his mandibles as he spoke tickling her hair. "Do you need me to carry you?"

A laugh escaped her. "No, but thanks. I think I can manage to drag my own sorry ass to the elevator."

With his arm still draped comfortably across her shoulders, they left together; the access light on the door panel shifting to its normal green once they were gone.

* * *

Alone in the mess hall, Kaidan sipped his coffee, not even bothering to pretend to read the datapad in front of him. The coffee was probably a bad choice, this close to his scheduled sleep cycle, but the lure of something normal and familiar when the rest of the universe was going to hell had been hard to resist. It wasn't like he was going to be able to sleep anyway. Every time he shut his eyes, the nightmares were waiting.

Sometimes, they were new ones – phantom bursts of pain as Dr. Eva Coré methodically shattered his spine, her face expressionless as he screamed. The old familiar ones were there, too, as the sun on Virmire burned overhead and Ash whispered, 'please don't leave me' and he did, he always did.

Since he'd rejoined the Normandy, though, it had been the worst ones, more often than not. The SR-1 in flames, Shepard gone, and his heart twisting away like spirals of smoke from the wreckage as he waited for the escape pod that would never come. The chittering drone of the seeker swarms, his mouth dry and cracked with dust as he ran beside a Shepard clad in traitor's colours. Sometimes, it was the night before Ilos, and she changed from human to husk as she moved on top of him.

On the worst nights, the husk didn't appear, it was simply her—them—the way he remembered or, at least, the way he remembered it now. As the years had gone by, he'd turned those particular memories over so often in his mind, like a stone between his fingers, that edges had become polished, smooth. On those nights, the real nightmare didn't begin until after he'd woken up.

He shook his head, feeling the teasing throb in the back of his skull that heralded the beginnings of a headache. They were his constant companion lately, too, it seemed. The pressure on them all was staggering, but there was no other choice. This was a fight for survival, not just another mission. The lives of everyone depended on what they were trying to do, and not just humans, but asari, quarians, turians, salarians—everyone. How Shepard was withstanding the relentless crush to succeed, he had no idea.

Maybe Cerberus had made her into something more than human after all.

He tried to will the thought away as the guilt rippled through him, but, like an old friend, the thought had already slunk in to stalk around at the edges of his mind. Ceberus could _never_  be trusted, and they'd rebuilt her—no,  _resurrected_  her. What if she—?

_Dammit!_

He forced himself to unclench his jaw as the throbbing in his skull grew harder to ignore. He'd never been good at blind faith, not for Shepard, not for anyone. It didn't matter how much he'd  _wanted_  to believe her on Horizon… Maybe, if he'd fought against his instincts and joined her crew then, things would be different now.

Would have, could have, should have… It didn't matter anymore.

Massaging his temples, Kaidan leaned back in his chair. He should probably head over to the Med Bay for some analgesics from Dr. Chakwas and then turn in for the rest of the cycle, but he glanced down at the dark datapad instead. Just the latest batch of reports to go through first. With a grimace, he picked it up, swiped it on, and skimmed through the series of files, sending off a few quick messages once he'd finished.

He drained the dregs of his cold coffee in a few quick swallows and then headed up to the CIC to speak with Traynor before the next shift came on duty. Half an hour later, he was done—at least for now. Time for the Med Bay, then sleep.

He had just stepped out of the elevator on the Crew Deck, realizing belatedly that he was still carrying the datapad that he'd meant to leave with Traynor, when the doors of the Starboard Observation Deck slid open.

"Kaidan."

He froze.

Shepard blinked, taking him in, and her expression softened into one that was strangely gentle. Almost tender. It was one he remembered, and the sudden intimacy of it made his voice catch in his throat.

"Shepard." He swallowed roughly, trying to dislodge the lump that refused to budge. She wasn't alone. "Garrus." His arm was around her shoulders; a casual embrace that was anything but.

"Everything okay?"

_No. No, everything wasn't okay. Everything was as far from okay as it could get._

He managed what he hoped was a quirk of a tired smile. "Fine. The usual stuff. You know." Waving the datapad at her— _like an idiot_ —he forced out a jargon-laden summary of the reports he'd just finished reading.

Shepard interjected a few times, pointing out things that would need further discussion later, but it was obvious that her attention was elsewhere. Up close, he could see the shadows beneath her eyes; the brittle weariness in the line of her shoulders.

Not a Cerberus monster.

Human.

Strong, fierce, beautiful. It all rested on her, and he could see how it was breaking her, each day grinding her down until there was nothing left but grit and bone.

It took him a moment to realize she'd spoken. He resisted the urge to rub his temples again. "I'm sorry? I missed that."

She smiled, and the combination of fatigue, amusement, and concern ate through his heart like acid. "I said you look like you're about to fall over. Go get some rest, Major. That's an order."

Garrus squeezed her shoulder and gave a rumbled huff of laughter. "Yes, because you're one to talk."

Shepard elbowed him back playfully, and their eyes met in a way that was clearly familiar and not for him. Not anymore.

"You, too, Shepard." Unsure where she and Garrus were going, he retreated back to the mess, not wanting her to know that he'd been heading for the Med Bay. It would be trivial for her to pull his personnel records, to see how much worse his migraines had become, compared to the last time they'd served together, but there was no reason for it. Still, if she'd seen him go now, she might have wondered, might have worried a little, maybe…

Since he was there anyway, he poured himself another mug of coffee from the kitchens. It was warm and familiar. Normal. As normal as the never ending pounding in his head, as normal as the fact that the universe was balanced on the edge of utter annihilation.

Just like old times.

He nearly laughed.

Would have, could have, should have… It didn't matter anymore.

Kaidan sat back down at one of the empty tables and buried his aching head in his hands.

* * *

"I think we should at least talk about it."

Garrus felt her shift beside him in the bed, raising herself up on one arm so she could see him better in the dim light of her cabin.

He stayed where he was, on his back, the near darkness making hollows of his eyes and the harsher contours of his face. She clearly knew his eyes were open, knew he was awake, even though he didn't roll over to face her. His chest rose and fell as he let out a dual-toned sigh. "I don't want to talk about it."

Shepard brushed her thumb gently along the mandible closest to her, and it flared out reflexively at her touch. "I know. But, _I've_  been thinking about it. I can't  _stop_  myself from thinking about it. The odds of both of us making it out of this alive are—"

"Jane," his voice hissed with undertones of anger and pain, "I lost you once. I'm not going to do it again."

"It's not like we have a choice." She pushed away from him and sat up, still tangled in the blankets, pulling her legs into her chest and folding her arms around her knees.

"Yes, we do." He turned his head to look at her. "I'm going with you this time. If you die, I die, too. There's nothing to talk about."

The silence the fell between them was tense, smothering them both beneath its weight.

"What if you die and I don't?" she whispered. "What if I become a husk? Would you kill me?" She shivered, despite the comfortable warmth of the room.

"Don't do this…"

"What if I'm indoctrinated? You would be able to tell first. You would have to take me out as fast as possible, so I couldn't—"

"Stop." Garrus sat up, tugging her against him and wrapping his arms around her. "Please, stop."

She shifted and took his face between her palms. "I  _can't_  hurt anyone. I  _can't_  betray the Alliance. Promise me you'll stop me if it happens, if I'm compromised." Her grip tightened, and the intensity in her voice made a tremor run down his spine. "Promise me you'll kill me before I hurt anyone."

He reached up and took her hands between his own, leaning forward until his forehead touched hers. "You know I would." She let out the breath she'd been holding, but his own chest still felt tight and hollow. "I know you'd do the same for me." With one finger, he rubbed a slow circle across the back of her hand, swallowing down the worries that had wormed their way in to glut themselves on the dark depths of his unvoiced fears. "We don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. We'll deal with it when we get there, like we always do."

"I know." The words made her seem small, vulnerable. So unlike the Shepard who blazed across the battlefield in a searing corona of blue; the Shepard who strode through his dreams in a discordant symphony of gunfire, the embodiment of loyalty and destruction. With a sigh, she extracted her hand from his and pushed back the hair that had fallen into her eyes. "Am I allowed to say that I don't know how I'm supposed to do this? I don't know how I'm supposed to do the impossible."

"My guess would be that they don't think it's  _quite_  as impossible if you're the one doing it." Saren, Sovereign, the Collectors, even death itself. He would have had a hard time believing it if he hadn't seen most of it firsthand. "Like it or not, you've built up quite the track record of doing just that."

She snorted, shaking her head. "But, this is  _it_ , the one that counts. I'm not just saving myself, or my crew. It's everyone this time. Every life, out there." With a tilt of her head, she gestured up at the windowed panel above the bed, at the stars streaking past. "All of them." She looked back at him, her voice soft in the hushed stillness. "All of us."

Garrus hummed, the vibration carrying from his body into hers. "You're not alone in this, Jane. I know the worst of the pressure is on you, but you've got me. You've got Tali and Liara, Wrex, Kaidan… We're all in this with you." He layered his subvocals with harmonics for hope, comfort, partnership. "And, I guarantee you that every one of them is still awake right now, torturing themselves, just like you're doing."

"I know," she said again. "I know they are. Kaidan looked pretty rough earlier."

Garrus nodded, his mandibles instinctively tightening against his jaw. There was nothing between Alenko and Shepard anymore, although he'd certainly tormented himself with the thought a few times during the long months of Shepard's incarceration on Earth. While he and Kaidan had had an easy camaraderie back on the SR-1, had worked well together even, Garrus had never been able to look at him the same way after Horizon. He couldn't help the splinter of anger and indignation that had lodged within him at the accusations Kaidan had hurled at Shepard, at the time when she'd needed them all the most. He was sure that Shepard had forgiven him, but the memory stuck in his gizzard like a fragment of glass, jagged and sour, as if kissed by the ghost of Sidonis' disloyalty.

"He looked pretty bad tonight," Garrus admitted. Not that Shepard was looking much better these days. Or, any of them, for that matter. He took her hand and pressed a kiss against the inside of her wrist. "Shepard, you really should try to rest." He hesitated, unsure. "Do you want me to get you one of those sleeping pills?"

The bottle had appeared in the bathroom a month or two ago, and he was sure it wasn't something she had explicitly asked for. No doubt Dr. Chakwas had insisted, based on the results of her weekly physicals. He'd noticed it when he'd stepped out of the shower, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror as she'd pulled a hairbrush through the wet tangles of her hair. Her gaze had flicked from him to the bottle and back again. She had held his eyes, her lips pressed thin and defiant as she'd given a slight shake of her head. No. Not today.

With a sharp nod in response, he'd let his eyes drop and reached for his towel. She hadn't mentioned them since, and he had followed her lead. Although, a few times, when he was alone in her cabin—their cabin—he'd looked at them and wondered if he shouldn't have let it go as easily as he had.

He was sure she would decline, so it surprised him when she gave him a searching look before murmuring, "Okay."

Pretending that her acquiescence hadn't rattled him, he got up and went to the bathroom. It took him a minute to find the bottle as he fumbled around in the tiny medicine cabinet—she had pushed it to the very back behind the tubes of medigel—and then he filled the glass by the side of the sink with cold water. When he came back to the bed, he sat down next to her and, without a word, offered her the small white oval that lay cupped in his palm.

Shepard stared at it for a second or two and her eyes narrowed, her chin dipped down in the barest hint of a nod. She'd made her decision. In one smooth motion, she picked the pill up between her thumb and forefinger and washed it down with the water he'd brought her, although the wry smile she gave him afterward didn't reach her eyes.

Unsure of what to say, he kissed her instead, wanting to give her whatever comfort he could offer.

As he took the cup from her, she stopped him from standing up again with the light pressure of her fingers encircling his wrist. "Thank you. For everything. I couldn't do this without you." She tugged him down just enough that she could brush his mouth with hers, her kiss an echo of his own. What was there to say when everything was precarious and uncertain?

He ran the flat side of his talon down the side of her jaw in a delicate caress as she pulled away. "You don't have to thank me. We'll make it through. Somehow."

"I hope you're right."

His left mandible flicked up in amusement, although his subvocals were subdued, grave. "I hope I'm right, too."

He left the glass on her bedside table and stretched out next to her as she lay down once more, settling the coolness of her cheek against his chest. He ran his talons through the soft strands of her hair, a human grooming ritual that always seemed to calm her, and concentrated on the rhythm of her breath, of her heart beat. As the meds kicked in, each inhalation grew slower, deeper. Her muscles twitched once in a quick spasm and he wondered if she was dreaming.

While Shepard slept, in his head, he ran through his latest batch of calculations to improve the response time of the Normandy's firing relays. The Primarch was waiting for a summary of Liara's latest reports, too. He should do that first thing tomorrow—Shepard had asked him to sit in on a call with Admiral Hackett at 0900, and it was an ideal opportunity to pass on any new information that Victus had for the Alliance.

Shepard whimpered, her fingers opening and closing, clutching at something only she could see.

"It's all right," he stroked her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her Alliance-issued soap. "It's all right. I'm here."

He wasn't leaving her side again. Not now, not ever.

* * *

Garrus was asleep when Shepard woke. With a quick glance at her omnitool she saw that it was just past 0300, still in the middle of her sleep cycle, but she was maddeningly wide awake again. Karin had mentioned that they might need to tweak the dosage of the meds she'd given her, with her metabolic rate being as high as it was. She hadn't thought about it much at the time, since she'd already convinced herself that she didn't need them.

She stretched her muscles languidly, not wanting to wake Garrus with her movement. He was running himself into the ground, and she wanted to give him this small respite if she could.

It took her several minutes to extricate herself from the tangle of his arms, almost abandoning her plans to get up as he nuzzled in close and wrapped an arm around her, but she made herself get up anyway. There was no sense lying there with her thoughts spinning. Might as well do something useful. She dressed quickly in her casual fatigues and slipped out of the room. A cup of coffee and she'd be good to go for another cycle or two.

The elevator doors opened on the Crew Deck, and she stepped forward to touch the wall of names, running her fingers over the carved plates. It was her little ritual, her way of acknowledging each individual sacrifice. She didn't touch the empty spaces. Maybe it was superstition, although she told herself it wasn't. She had no doubt that there would be more names here in the upcoming weeks, that maybe there wouldn't even be a wall, or someone to put them up, but she didn't want to think about that.

As she rounded the corner towards the kitchens, she spotted someone asleep at the long table, his head pillowed on his crossed arms. With a start she realized who it was. "Oh, Kaidan…" she whispered. He had been working himself hard since he'd come aboard, trying to prove himself. He'd done the same thing, to a lesser extent, when they'd first met on the SR-1. This time, however, she had a sense that it was a need to atone that was driving him.

She approached and touched his shoulder gently, keeping her voice low, not wanting to startle him. "Kaidan."

He mumbled something, not fully awake, and it took her a moment to process that he'd said, "Jane?"

She'd never thought that someone simply saying her name could hurt, but that one word hit her hard, like the punch of a bullet carving a path through her flesh. She remembered the last time he'd called her 'Jane' and pretended that the ache in her chest wasn't real.

He sat upright, rubbing at his eyes before opening them to look at her, surprise registering on his features as he realized who had woken him. "Shepard? What are you doing down here. I must have fallen asleep." With an expression of shock, he attempted to stand up. "Shit! What time is it? It's not 0900 yet, is it?"

She pushed him back down with the hand that was still on his shoulder. "At ease, Major. It's still the middle of the cycle. I couldn't sleep."

"Oh," he deflated with relief, sitting down once more. "Good."

"Now, why don't you go get some shut-eye, in a proper bunk this time." She smiled, gesturing at the half-full mug on the table next to his elbow. "I think your coffee's probably cold anyway."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "You're probably right. You were the only one who could ever drink that swill cold anyway."

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad." She walked to the kitchen area and poured herself a mug from the coffee pot before turning back to him, cradling the warm mug between her palms. "Now, the coffee, if you could even call it that, on Arcturus…  _that_  stuff was the worst."

He grimaced in remembrance. "All right, I'll give you that one." He pushed back his hair and rubbed his eyes again. "I can't believe I fell asleep. I'm glad you were the one to find me, or things could have been really embarrassing."

"You'd hardly be the first. I don't think anyone is sleeping particularly well right now."

He nodded. "What about you, Shepard? What are you doing up?"

She gave a small shrug, careful not to spill the contents of her mug before blowing lightly on the surface of the liquid and taking a sip. "Woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. Figured I might as well get up and do something rather than lying there."

He leaned forward and gestured at the empty chair next to him. "You want company?" Kaidan looked tired, but she wasn't exactly one to talk, since she was up drinking coffee in the middle of her scheduled sleep cycle, too.

"Sure." She set her own mug down, took the cold one from the table, and then got him a fresh cup, adding just a splash of milk to it before handing it to him.

He gave her a sad smile as she sat down in the chair opposite his, raising his mug to her before sipping it carefully. "Just how I like it."

_I know_ , she told him with her eyes, with the same sad smile.  _I remember_. She raised her mug to him and took a sip in response before setting it down in front of her. "So, how are you holding up? Anything you want to talk about?"

"I'm doing all right, I suppose. As well as can be expected, given the circumstances."

"How have your headaches been?"

"Manageable, I guess. After all these years, you'd think I'd be used to them by now."

She leaned forward, reaching across the table to touch his hand, pushing away the memory of how slack, cold, and lifeless they'd felt during the panicked flight to Heurta Memorial. "Have you told Karin that they've been getting worse?"

He squared his shoulders, blinked once, twice. He was going to deny it, reassure her that everything was fine, but his gaze flicked down to where her hand rested across his own. "Yeah, she knows. She thinks that it's related to the damage I took on Mars, but she isn't sure if it's because of scar tissue or some sort of residual inflammation."

"Is there anything she can do?"

He sighed, absent-mindedly tracing over the handle of his mug with the tip of one finger. "Not much right now. More scans. Surgery maybe. She's been experimenting with different combinations of slow-release painkillers, but I hate the way they make me feel, like my reflexes are too slow." Meeting her eyes, he shrugged and gave her a small smile. "I'd rather deal with the pain and not be a liability in the field, you know?"

"I know. I get it." She squeezed his hand and let go. "Just don't let it get away from you."

"I won't."

They made small talk for a while, both of them deliberately skirting around anything mission-related, swapping stories from their pasts. It was nice to see Kaidan laugh, a real one that made the bridge of his nose crinkle, although it hurt to realize how long ago it had been since they'd last done this. A literal lifetime.

"Shepard? You all right?" The smile was gone, replaced by a wrinkle of concern on his forehead.

"Yeah. Fine." She rubbed an arbitrary spot on the surface of the table, collecting her thoughts before she spoke. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

"Us. This." She laced her fingers together around her coffee cup, savouring the last bit of warmth that lingered there. "I've missed this, missed you." She considered her words. As much as she didn't want to re-open old wounds, would they have another chance to talk about it if they didn't do it now? "After Cerberus brought me back, one of the first things I did was to message you. I don't know how many I sent before I gave up. You never answered."

Kaidan cleared his throat. "The Alliance intercepted them and they were marked as classified. I didn't even know until Anderson—"

"It's okay. I know. I should have realized, at the time, that they wouldn't have gone through. And then, when we ran into each other on Horizon…"

He stiffened, taking in a deep breath before he spoke. "Horizon was my fault. I should've listened, shouldn't have reacted as badly as I did. They'd briefed me on the possibility that you could still be alive before I left, but I just couldn't believe it. Not after seeing the Normandy destroyed."

His voice dropped, husky and quiet, and she could hardly hear him over the low hum of the ventilation system. "It took me so long to fully accept that you were gone. Even the thought that you might be alive… I couldn't handle it. I couldn't let myself think, for even a minute, that it might be true. If I did, I wouldn't have been able to go on. I would have thrown everything else aside to find you, and I couldn't do that for a rumour that, at the time, seemed so far-fetched."

Shepard swallowed. "It wasn't your fault, Kaidan. I don't know how I would have reacted either, had our situation been reversed. Believe me, if you'd told me years ago that I would someday work willingly with Cerberus, I wouldn't have believed you either." She paused to take a sip of her coffee before continuing.

"But, I didn't exactly have a lot of options at that point. I'd lost two years of my life, and I wasn't even sure if I was who they were telling me I was. Dammit, some days, I'm still not sure." She was clenching the mug, her fingers turning white, and she forced herself to relax her grip. "I don't know that Miranda has ever been totally honest with me. And, even if she has, it's only been about her part in it. Who knows what else the Illusive Man might have done without her knowledge. I could be jeopardizing this mission just by the fact that I'm here, and no one would know until it was too late. Not even me."

This time, he was the one who reached across the table to take her hand. "I'm sorry, Shepard. For whatever it's worth. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me." His cheeks flushed a pale pink. "I wish… I wish things had turned out differently."

"I guess we'll never know." She let her breath out in a slow sigh. "I'm glad you didn't die, after Mars. It was touch and go the entire time it took to get you to the Citadel. I was scared I was going to lose you."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I'm glad I didn't die, either." He gave a weary half-chuckle. "I could've done without the spinal fractures and the concussion though."

"I think that goes without saying." She smiled back at him.

"Listen, you and Garrus…" He paused, looking anywhere but at her as he searched for what to say. "I hope he… Man, I don't know how to say this without sounding like an idiot…" After another long delay, he looked up at her. "I guess, just that I hope he makes you happy. You deserve that."

She tried to say it as gently as she could, like this fragile peace between them, still delicate and new. "You deserve that, too, Kaidan."

"Yeah." He glanced down at the table, then back up at her before reluctantly pulling his hand away from hers. "Maybe someday."

There was nothing else to say, nothing that would ease the curdled pang of regret for the future that might have been. Nothing to say except, "I'm sorry."

He forced a smile, but her gaze was too focused on the pain in his eyes to notice. "Me, too."

They sipped the last of their coffee in silence.

Kaidan finished first, and stood up. "Well, I think I'm going to turn in for my last few hours.  _Try_  and sleep anyway."

"Sounds like a plan." Shepard gulped down the last few cold swallows in her own mug and stood up, too. "I was going to go check in with Liara, but I think I might try and get a little more rest. Might as well take the opportunity while we can, right?"

She watched him as he took their empty mugs to the sterilization receptacle.

"Kaidan?"

He glanced up.

"It was good to talk to you. We should do this more often."

"Sure, Shepard. I'd… I'd like that."

The elevator took her back up to her cabin, and she was relieved to see that Garrus was still asleep and that her absence hadn't woken him. She stripped off her clothing and crawled back into bed next to him. He was delightfully warm, and she curled herself into him, soaking up the heat of his skin.

"Where were you?" he murmured.

"Couldn't sleep. Went to the mess for coffee and talked to Kaidan for a bit."

He turned over on to his other side to face her. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good." He kissed her forehead and she nestled in against his chest. "Sleep now."

To her surprise, she did.

* * *

_What might have been and what has been_

_Point to one end, which is always present._

_Footfalls echo in the memory_

_Down the passage which we did not take_

_Towards the door we never opened_

_Into the rose-garden._

_~ T.S. Eliot_

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my beta, Josie Lange, for all her support and help with this, and I also want to thank to Enaid Aderyn, Hot elf, Letticiae, and karebear. All of you have helped me so much during my long dryspell of being unable to write, and I'm so grateful to each of you.


End file.
